Memoir style writing from a rainy island in Alaska.

What We Do

Right now my phone is buzzing off the hook. Usually when I get in one of those annoying text circles I get frustrated, and this time I am in several of those circles.. so my phone is “super-buzzing.” But I am not frustrated or annoyed this time. This time I stop what I am doing to read updates. Updates about the health of a friend who was medivaced to a big hospital in Seattle. Updates about a welcome-home for her. Updates about food, updates about a flower-planting work session to brighten her return. Updates. It is what we do.

Here is the thing. I know this woman, have known her for years. We taught together long ago, she was a very involved grandparent when her grandchildren were in my class. She is active in theater, *behind the scenes,* But I don’t see her much these days. We haven’t really kept in touch, but that doesn’t matter, because this is what we do. In Ketchikan. It is what we do. We pitch in and we work. We pitch in an work because we love her. It is what we do.

We make casseroles, cookies and comfort quilts. We clean houses, scrub tubs and do laundry. We weed gardens, plant flowers and trees. We string Christmas lights and set up Christmas trees, we take down Christmas trees. We read together, we craft together, we bind quilts together, we simply sit together quietly. It is Ketchikan. It is what we do.

So tomorrow I will make a casserole and some cookies for her freezer, On Saturday Scott and I will show up at her house and work in the garden. We will do this because we are from Ketchikan and it is what we do.